


Reverie

by convexxed



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 15:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10699938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexxed/pseuds/convexxed
Summary: Kim Junmyeon would never stop loving Yixing, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t also love Jongdae.





	Reverie

**Author's Note:**

> **Pairing** : Jongdae/Junmyeon  
>  **Side pairings:** past Yixing/Junmyeon  
>  **Genre:** slight angst, fluff  
>  **Warnings:** minor character death ):  
>  **Word count:** 4.2k  
>  **A/N:** HELLO!! I ACTUALLY HAD A BLAST WRITING THIS AND I LIKE THE OUTCOME A LOT. Without further ado, please go ahead and check it out  <3

Kim Junmyeon fell in love with a pianist, but there was more to him than met the eye.

He fell in love with smudged musical notes messily scribbled across countless paper sheets, and with the melancholy that tinged his voice when he added words to the melodies he played.

He fell in love with the dimples on his cheeks and the way his eyes crinkled whenever he smiled, and with a laughter that might come out as obnoxious to some but to his ears sounded like wedding bells.

He fell in love with the prospect of a fairy tale ending and a happily ever after, and he was gone when the possibility of achieving both fell within his reach and became tangible in the form of a white gold bad that fit perfectly around his ring finger.

He fell in love with a man who spoke the language of music, whose fingers were always dancing in the air, as if playing a soundless melody in an invisible piano. He fell in love with his pianos and his fortes, and had also learned to not panic whenever a caesura happened and the music halted.

He fell in love with unintelligible Chinese words whispered in dreams, and with the dusty and earthy aroma of chrysanthemum tea that invited him to curl up on the couch as the days grew colder. He fell in love with a man who dreamed big and possessed and even bigger heart, with enough room to house him and all the music he loved.

He fell in love with the seven of October, and then fell out of love with it.

He fell out of love with everything he once held dear and close to his heart; the yellowed music sheets he’d decided to not throw away eventually became a burden so he set them on fire, and he drowned the leftover chrysanthemums he’d never use again to make tea.

He fell out of love with the pitter-patter of the rain on the asphalt streets and with the smell of buttery popcorn whenever he walked past the theatre, and he also fell out of love with the grand piano in the living room, whose presence was a mockery to his loneliness.

He fell out of love with love itself, because he had blindly trusted it and love had mercilessly stabbed him in the back. 

He grew to hate the sound of the phone ringing and eventually stopped answering it, because the condolences that poured through only brought him more pain instead of providing solace.

He grew to hate Yixing’s favourite piano song, _Passing by_ , because it was a constant reminder that he, too, was gone and wouldn’t come back. 

He grew to hate alcoholic beverages, because it had been a drunk driver who took Yixing from him. He also grew to hate a simple _hello_ , because then he’d be inevitably bound to bid _goodbye_ at some point.

He learned to hate, when his heart had only housed love for the past two years.

There was a vast difference between not wanting to move on and not having enough strength to do it, and his friends and family seemed to believe that Junmyeon’s case was the former. Did they really think that he enjoyed waking up every day to an empty house and dwelling in grief, when he’d rather be married and raising a kid with Yixing?

Junmyeon’s friends insisted that he should go out more to get his mind off things, and his mother kept telling him to pack up and move out of the house they’d bought together with their savings and start afresh. His therapist said that he was making progress and getting better with each session, but Junmyeon knew that such things weren’t true. 

Maybe everyone around him was right and his subconscious was holding him back and keeping him from leaving Yixing behind and moving on with his life.

 

+++

 

The days used to be brighter when Yixing was around, but perhaps it was the cloud of gloom permanently floating over Junmyeon’s head that was blocking the light. 

Seven months had gone by since he called off the wedding and the piling adoption forms they were meant to fill together were put on hold; seven months since _we_ became _I_ and two became one and the promises of a happily ever after vanished as Yixing smiled at Junmyeon for the last time and went to sleep, to never wake up again.

It's not like he didn’t want to move on, but heartbreak couldn’t be treated like a flu; there was no magic pill for Junmyeon to pop in his mouth to chase away the symptoms, although the grief within seemed to be of parasitical nature—it had rooted in his heart and fed on whatever sliver of happiness he came upon on his good days, on the sunlight that poured in through the window and fell across the grand piano, as if to remind him that not everything was lost.

Unfortunately, Junmyeon couldn’t see a way out of the maze he was trapped in.

Day 235. There’s still no head resting on the pillow beside him, and when Junmyeon directs his gaze towards the nightstand, mostly out of habit, Yixing’s smile greets him from the framed picture he refuses to throw away. 

“Good morning,” Junmyeon says groggily as his eyes move over Yixing’s face, adding a breathless, “wherever you are.”

It takes him twenty more minutes to gather enough strength to kick off the covers and sit up, and another ten to finally leave the comfort of his bed. His hair is standing up in weird angles from all the tossing and turning he did overnight, and the exhaustion has made itself visible in the form of the dark circles under Junmyeon’s tired eyes and fine stubble on his chin and above his upper lip.

Junmyeon’s cotton white jumper isn’t enough to keep him warm as he makes his way downstairs and saunters into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, changing his mind at the last second and choosing to set some coffee to brew instead. It’s going to take a while, so in the meantime he returns upstairs but instead of going to the master bedroom to retrieve his slippers he ends up standing before the white door he’s kept under lock and key ever since Yixing passed away.

Five minutes later find him rummaging through his drawers until he comes across the item he hid underneath several layers of colourful socks that he hadn’t worn in months; the key is like any other pin tumbler lock key, but its meaning makes it feel terribly heavy on Junmyeon’s palm. 

Despite, he decides to proceed.

His heart is pounding as he unlocks the white door and then turns the knob with trembling fingers, taking a deep breath before stepping inside the nursery he and Yixing had spent their last month together working on. The smell of fresh paint still lingers but it’s mixed with lavender air freshener, and dust has collected over the surface of the exposed furniture.

The walls are painted lilac and glow-in-the-dark stars have been pasted across the ceiling to form random constellations, and Junmyeon recalls with a fond smile the kiss he and Yixing shared beneath them. An empty bassinet occupies the center of the room, a cradle at its right and a play pen to its left, and Junmyeon’s breath hitches in his throat when he spots a paper sheet and pen resting atop the shelf that Yixing couldn’t finish putting together.

He moves closer, careful not to step onto the nails and hammer on the floor, then picks up the yellowed paper. There, scribbled in Yixing’s messy handwriting, is a list of girl names. Three have been crossed out already but the rest are still perfectly legible and, despite the sharp pain in his chest, Junmyeon can’t help but smile a bit wider at the memories flooding his head.

They wanted a girl. Junmyeon had been surprised when Yixing came over to him and told him this, because he’d been pondering over whether to tell his fiancé or not about his desire to raise a kid with him. It’d only taken them a month to find a new home to move into, and another to start turning the guest room into a small nursery even though they hadn’t even begun to look into adoption agencies yet.

Five months before the big day, death did them part.

They should’ve said their vows and their _I do’_ s two months ago. They should’ve gone on a honeymoon to Japan and made a bunch of happy memories together there. They should’ve adopted a little girl and raised her to be a compassionate, loving woman. They should’ve been there to fix her broken heart and to walk her down the aisle hand in hand when she got married.

They should’ve grown old together, but life had other plans for them. Junmyeon would get wrinkles around his eyes and mouth and his hair would turn white as the years went by and they took their toll on him, whereas Yixing would remain young forever.

Junmyeon clutches the paper sheet to his chest as thick tears fall from his eyes and stain his cheeks, hoping that the fake stars above him can hear his pleas to _send Yixing back, please, I miss him so much and it hurts, make the pain go away, I’m begging you._

Downstairs, the coffee finishes brewing and sits in the jar, untouched, for the rest of the morning.

 

+++

 

It takes every ounce of Junmyeon’s strength to not spend the day curled up on the carpeted floor of the nursery, bawling his eyes out as the memories crush whatever’s left of his spirit, but he eventually manages to collect himself and get up. He places the paper sheet with the list of girl names back onto the shelf and then makes his way out with his head held up high, just like Yixing would’ve wanted. 

He locks the white door behind him and returns to the master bedroom to hide the key in the sock drawer, then grabs a set of clean clothes from the drawer and spends the next thirty minutes in the bathtub, feeling exhausted despite not having done anything today. He hasn’t even had his morning coffee yet, and it’s past noon already.

Junmyeon comes downstairs another half an hour later, clad in a black shirt and shades to hide his puffy eyes from any curious gazes that might come his way while he’s out. He’d rather stay home and wail in his misery, but he needs to pay a visit to Yixing’s mother and sister at their family owned flower shop. The heavens know how hard it’s been for them, too.

 

+++

 

“I’m sorry, sir. Could you repeat your order?”

Junmyeon blinks in confusion, noticing the pink dusting the young waitress’ cheeks as she cuts him an apologetic look for not being able to understand his mumbled words. He decided to stop at a diner to have lunch after meeting up with Yixing’s mother and sister, but his mind is somewhere else far away from the booth he’s seated at.

“Yeah. Sorry.” He takes off his shades then to take a better look at the menu and decides to go for the soup of the day and a tuna sandwich, adding a latte to his order because he does need that caffeine. 

The waitress scribbles down Junmyeon’s order and smiles when he catches the man pinching the bridge of his nose. “Long day?”

“Longer than the summer solstice.”

“Luckily that happens only once a year,” says the waitress. “I’ll be back very soon with your meal, sir.”

The girl has a point, but to Junmyeon every day feels like the longest he’ll ever have to live through. It’s not easy and some days he thinks he might not make it out of bed but somehow he always manages to do it, even if hours later he ends up regretting it. Today is one of those days and, despite not having done much, he already misses his bed. It’s lonely there but at least the rest of the world can’t pity him for what he’s become or try to give unsolicited advice on how to overcome his grieving slump.

He’s tired of it all. He’s tired of people telling him that Yixing would want him to be happy no matter what, and he’s sick of everyone pretending to know what’s best for him. Sometimes he wished he could mute the world around him, some others to be invisible so no one could point out his obvious weight loss or try to comfort him by saying that there must be someone else for him out there. How dare they imply that Yixing wasn’t the one?

“Hello.”

Junmyeon gasps quietly in surprise at the sudden greeting and does a quick scan around the diner to find its source, and he’s about to declare the voice a figment of his imagination when his eyes land on the toddler standing before him. He’s wearing a black and white striped long-sleeve shirt underneath an overall, and he’s holding what seems to be a dinosaur-shaped chicken nugget in his tiny hands.

“Hello there,” Junmyeon returns, shifting in his seat. 

The little boy steps closer and stands on his tiptoes to place the dinosaur-shaped nugget onto the table, right in front of Junmyeon, then pouts upon realising that his hands are all greasy now. “My hands are dirty.”

Junmyeon grabs a napkin from the napkin holder and hands it over to the toddler, who simply stares at it as if trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do with the piece of paper. Where are this kid’s parents, and why aren’t they keeping an eye on him? 

“Daeul!” A man comes sprinting across the diner, clearly agitated, and scoops up the toddler into his arms right in front of an astonished Junmyeon. “Here you are. What did I tell you about not running off like that? Little man, you scared me. What would your mother say if I came home empty handed?”

The little boy named Daeul points at Junmyeon then, still pouting and seemingly upset over something. “But I had to!”

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted to share my food with him.” Says Daeul, pointing a tiny forefinger at Junmyeon, and the man holding the little boy finally acknowledges his presence. “He looked sad and I wanted to make him happy.”

Junmyeon is at a loss of words right now, his brain and body having fallen out of sync while trying to process the sudden twist of events and the current situation that he had somehow been dragged into. Just this morning he’d struggled to get out of bed and cried his eyes out while reminiscing the past, and now he’s at a diner with some kid trying to feed him a dinosaur-shaped chicken nugget because _he looked sad_ and the kid wanted to make him happy.

“Daeul, you can’t go around giving people nuggets.” The man explains to the boy in his arms, breathing out a soft sigh as he directs his gaze towards Junmyeon and lightly bows his head at him. “I’m sorry if we caused you any inconvenience. Daeul is so energetic and sometimes I have trouble keeping up with him.”

Junmyeon glances down at the cold chicken nugget and then up at the pouting boy, feeling as a smile threatens to break across his face. “Daeul saw my food wasn’t here yet and he was kind enough to share his own with me. Right, buddy?”

This earns Junmyeon a beam from the little boy and a grateful smile from the older man carrying him, who steps aside for the waitress to be able to set down Junmyeon’s food on the table. (She gives the nugget a wary look but says nothing about it and simply smiles to herself as she walks away.)

“This was very kind of you, Daeul, but don’t run off on your dad like that. Okay?”

“Ah.” The little boy nods and the older man laughs, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused grin and the tips of his ears turning red. “I’m not his father, despite how alike we look. I’m just babysitting him while my sister runs some errands around town.”

“Uncle of the year, I assume?”

“I don’t think I qualify anymore as runner up after today’s incident, but thank you or your consideration.” The man side-eyes his nephew, and can’t help but laugh when he receives a peck on the cheek courtesy of said little boy. “I’m Jongdae, by the way.”

“Junmyeon. Kim Junmyeon.”

“Well, it’s time for us to go back so we can finish our own meal.” The man named Jongdae announces, turning to look at the little boy in his arms. “Say goodbye, Daeul. Bye, Mr. Kim Junmyeon.”

The man in question returns the wave with a smile, then watches as both uncle and nephew retreat to their own table and he’s reminded of the life that he and Yixing could’ve had. They would’ve been the coolest, loveliest parents around.

Junmyeon doesn’t have to, but he eats the cold dinosaur-shaped chicken nugget anyway. A few tables away, the man named Jongdae sees him. The young waitress watches from the bar as everything unfolds.

 

+++

 

Junmyeon stares at the sequence of numbers scribbled on a napkin, unsure of what to do with them.

It’s been seven months and a week since Yixing passed away and the last thing Junmyeon expected was for someone he met at a diner to give him his number after having exchanged a few words and introducing themselves. He’d thrown away the napkin after having decided that he wanted nothing to do with it and the man named Jongdae, but five minutes later found Junmyeon dropping on his knees and shoving his arm into the trashcan to dig it out.

What’s he supposed to do now? Junmyeon flips over the napkin and curls up on the couch into a fetal position, his arms wound around his knees and platinum blonde hair falling across his forehead and tickling the tip of his nose. He knows what the purpose of those numbers is, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to crack his shell and put himself back out there and commit.

He’s fine by himself, grieving the loss of his loved one in silence and darkness—ah, but his selective solitude comes with a catch. He’s lonely beyond words and he’s craving for solace and comfort, for the void in his chest to be filled again. Junmyeon doesn’t want pity from his relatives nor his friends’ sympathy (though he isn’t judging, they’re trying their best to accommodate and he’s grateful); he wants to forget.

How can Junmyeon move on if he’s rooted to the past and everyone around him keeps reminding him of what he lost? Even he’s tired of pitying himself. He’ll never stop loving Yixing and cherishing the time they spent together, but making wishes to plastic stars and forgoing breakfast because he slept in too late and had trouble getting out of bed won’t bring him back.

Junmyeon shivers. The presence of the grand piano where Yixing used to play suddenly feels less heavy, less suffocating, less tortuous. Rather, it’s starting to become comforting.

_Hey. It’s Junmyeon, from the diner._

No, no. Too formal. The words are deleted and retyped, and this time Junmyeon presses the send button.

_Hey. It’s Junmyeon, the dinosaur-shaped chicken nugget guy._

 

+++

 

Jongdae isn’t a pianist and he doesn’t drink chrysanthemum tea. He’s a personal trainer at a local gym who drinks vanilla protein shakes in the morning and likes his coffee with a bit of creamer and no sugar.

He doesn’t tell stories through music scales and piano keys, nor does he speak the language of music. He doesn’t have any dimples around his smile and his laughter is boisterous, whereas Yixing’s was gentle and soothing; if Yixing was like light rain on a spring day, Jongdae is a thunderstorm on a hot summer night.

He doesn’t know who Yiruma is, but he owns a collection of Debussy’s compositions and likes Monet’s artwork. He doesn’t fill up paper sheets with musical compositions, but he’s perfectly able to capture on paper even the smallest details of the dove on the window sill of the coffee shop where they’re meeting up for the third time. Junmyeon remembers then that Yixing was afraid of birds and anything with wings and feathers.

Yixing had never been shy about voicing out his affection and admiration towards Junmyeon, but sometimes he became taciturn and thoughtful and approaching him was hard. Jongdae, on the other hand, prefers to wear his heart on his sleeve. He laughs at the top of his lungs if he’s happy, shouts out his frustrations if he’s upset over something, and he lives and loves freely.

Jongdae doesn’t learn about Yixing until their seventh date, when Junmyeon bursts at last and everything he held inside spills, and he recounts the brightest and darkest moments of his life to him over wet smiles and a tub of ice cream. Junmyeon tells him about their plans to spend their honeymoon in Japan and about the nursery with the lilac walls and the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He tells him about how soon it’ll be the anniversary of Yixing’s death, and Jongdae offers to take a day off and keep him company.

Junmyeon declines then, but when the day comes he ends up calling Jongdae anyway because he can’t remember how to knot his tie and he can’t find his shoes. Jongdae cancels his appointments right away and sleeps on Junmyeon’s couch that night, and the next morning he wakes up to his host making scrambled eggs and frying bacon.

 

+++

 

“Lilac is a pretty colour,” Jongdae blurts out while Junmyeon pushes Daeul on the swing of a nearby playground, the little boy urging the older man to make him go faster and higher because he wants to touch the sky and taste the clouds. “Who picked it?”

Junmyeon knows exactly what Jongdae is talking about, but this time there is no sharp pain in his chest as his mind wanders to the nursery he and Yixing never finished putting together and whose door remains locked. “I did.”

“Really? Good taste, then.” A smile crosses Jongdae’s face as he takes over Junmyeon’s place and motions for him to sit down on the unoccupied swing, giving it a gentle push once the older man has gotten comfortable there. “I have some drapes to match the walls. They’re white with lace along the hem and hand-painted daisies. I think you’ll like them.”

Daeul laughs, and Junmyeon laughs harder.

 

+++

 

Kim Junmyeon would never stop loving Yixing, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t also love Jongdae. 

Realisation strikes him the morning he wakes up in a different bed, wearing someone else’s clothes and to the owner of the place watching cartoons in the living room, and instead of panicking he finds himself smiling and making his way over to join Jongdae on the couch. 

Love manifested itself in different ways and he thinks that his heart is finally ready to open up and let Jongdae in. He’s ready to move on.

Slowly but surely, he falls in love with cartoon characters doodled on napkins and sticky notes, and with the crayons and paper sheets scattered over the floor whenever Daeul visited. He doesn’t mind picking them up and tidying the place while Jongdae drives him back home to his parents.

He falls in love with the smell of coffee and pancakes floating around on Sunday mornings, and with the ridiculously sweet syrup that Jongdae likes to drown his pancakes with. He’s complained multiple times but Jongdae refuses to ditch it, although he does end up getting a less sugary alternative for Junmyeon.

He falls in love with Jongdae’s gym clothes and the sound his feet make as he runs on the treadmill, and with his impressive collection of water bottles and yoga mats. He also befriends Chanyeol, who works as a receptionist at the gym that Jongdae frequents, and just so happens to like Yiruma as well.

He falls in love with Jongdae’s rough hand and tender heart, and with the expression of awe he wears while Junmyeon shows him around the nursery and the list of girl names that he and Yixing started a year and a half ago. He falls a bit harder when Jongdae says he likes them all.

He falls in love with a man whose birthday falls on the end of summer and the beginning of fall, who taught himself to play Junmyeon’s favourite piece in piano for the second anniversary of Yixing’s passing. Junmyeon cries all the way through, from the beginning to the end, and Jongdae promises to play it for him every year from now.

He falls in love with a man as bright as the sun, and he doesn’t hesitate to say yes when Jongdae goes down on one knee and asks him to love him forever, until death does them part.


End file.
